ALL SYSTEMS O!

Young and old, players and fans find delight during the Era of Omar

Sunday, September 26, 2004

In a city that clung to every demonstration of adequacy from Tim Couch, that embraces brilliance on the if-come for LeBron James, and that celebrated the make-believe glories of “Major League,” Omar Vizquel, the greatest gloveman of his era, could play his last home game with the Indians today.

He has been the best defensive player in baseball, at the most important defensive position, for all of his 11 seasons here. He has been better offensively than St. Louis’ Ozzie Smith, a similarly gifted shortstop and a Hall of Famer. He has been every bit as spectacular in the field as Smith, and under tougher circumstances because artificial turf did not smooth out bad bounces for him.

With his nine Gold Gloves (and an outside chance to Hoover up a 10th this season), he would be a lock as a first-ballot Hall of Famer for those of us who saw him play on a regular basis.

After all, it hardly seems fair to change the criteria on Vizquel at the end of his career because of the advent of the slugging shortstop, as represented by Derek Jeter, Nomar Garciaparra and (until shifting to third base) Alex Rodriguez.

Vizquel has better numbers than such Hall of Fame shortstops as Rabbit Maranville, Dave Bancroft, Travis Jackson, Joe Tinker and Phil Rizzuto. But he didn’t play in New York, like the Scooter. He didn’t do a back-flip, like Ozzie. And nobody wrote a poem about him, like Tinker. (“These are the saddest of possible words: Tinker to Evers to Chance.”)

Vizquel didn’t need the rhyme scheme, anyway. He rewrote the book on how to play short, chapter and verse.

He could find an oasis in a parched land. In games played in the merciless summer glare, he snagged pop-ups with his back to the plate, scrounging shade where it otherwise didn’t exist.

He took grounders barehanded because the leather was a tether that would hold down his chance to throw the batter out.

He caught Texas-leaguers that seemed certain to be hits, swiping his glove at the ball like a reaper stubbing a field that had been flourishing.

It is hard to recall a play he missed because he was styling.

“There are Hall of Famers, and there are major Hall of Famers. Omar Vizquel is a major Hall of Famer,” said Indians legend Bob Feller, who is so major that most of the rest of the franchise looks minor.

Feller had Hall of Fame shortstop Lou Boudreau, the 1948 American League Most Valuable Player, behind him at shortstop. It only deepens his appreciation of Vizquel.

“Boudreau didn’t have anything like the range Vizquel has,” Feller said. “He made up for it by getting a very good jump. If the pitch was inside to a right-handed batter, he was moving to his right. He covered the same amount of ground. But Vizquel plays with so much flair.”

If voted in, Vizquel would be the first player who spent the majority of his career as an Indian to be elected by the members of the Baseball Writers Association of America since Bob Lemon in 1976. Racial pioneer Larry Doby was elected in 1998 by the Veterans Committee.

The most popular Indian of the 1990s, when the franchise crawled out of the muck of four decades of neglect to win two pennants, Vizquel has played with substance as well as style. His batting average usually has been 25-30 points higher than it was in his early years in Seattle.

Friday night, he brightened an otherwise drab 8-2 loss to the Twins, turning to the side of the ball’s flight near third base, then gloving Coco Crisp’s throw from left field and whipping the ball to the outside of the plate at the precise juncture of Corey Koskie’s body and catcher Victor Martinez’s mitt. Everything about the double play, which was begun on Augie Ojeda’s foul out, was technically sound. But it also was technicolored.

“He’s at least as good as Ozzie Smith. He makes the routine play, and he makes the exceptional play. He plays the same if there are 5,000 people in the park or 40,000,” said Indians General Manager Mark Shapiro. “He’s 37, and he just had one of his three best career offensive years. Would I like to keep him? I’d love to keep him, because I know how good he can still be and how much he means to us.”

Still, it is probably time for Vizquel to move on. He deserves to go out with a contending team, and not one in which the bottom line is the bottom line.

Vizquel made $6.5 million this season. There is a mutual option in his contract for next season for $5 million, but the Indians only pick that up if Monopoly money counts.

Second baseman Ronnie Belliard will look for a new contract next season, too, and for at least two years. The Tribe probably wouldn’t go with youngsters Brandon Phillips at second and Jhonny Peralta at short, not with the announced aim of contending next season.

So the choice probably isn’t between Vizquel and Belliard, but between the prospects. Peralta was the MVP of the International League. Phillips was not.

If Vizquel is deemed expendable, with his salary to be spent for more pitching, it won’t be the same without him.

He never said, “Let’s play two,” as did the Cubs’ Ernie Banks. But his effect has been the same.

In the 1990s, when the Browns were gone and the Cavaliers were either hurt or boring, the Indians owned the town. Fans generally overlooked it, giddy to see the team win, but in some ways it was like being owned by Scrooge and Marley.

Eddie Murray passed out quotes as if they were raises to Bob Cratchit. Talking to Kenny Lofton was as much fun as getting a lump of coal in your stocking. The ghosts never bothered with trying to reform Albert Belle. On a team that worked hard to take the value out of victory, Vizquel was a priceless asset.

“He’s like Ozzie Smith in another way,” Feller said. “He’s in the Hall of Fame as a person.”

Vizquel has been proof that you play ball. You don’t work it, arbitrate it, free agent it, hold out on it, cork it, juice it, QuesTec it, “Spider-Man 2” it, scowl it, no comment it, cheat it or cheapen it.

No one of his era played it better, either. He did things we had never seen before, with a smile. Exit (probably) Omar, who made us feel young.